


Deflowering an Oleander

by Disembowel-me (Sarunkoku)



Category: Boyfriend to Death (Visual Novels)
Genre: Amputation, Asphyxiation, Forced Oral, Hair-pulling, Humiliation, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Mild Genital Mutilation, No Lube, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-14 22:52:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18061724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarunkoku/pseuds/Disembowel-me
Summary: Strade never was too careful with most flowers.





	Deflowering an Oleander

“ _Hrk- Hgh-_ ”

A teardrop ran down Lawrence’s cheek, eyes glassy. Spit coated his mouth and chin, drooling down Strade’s thighs and dripping from his lips, tongue pinned down between his lower lip and the dick in his mouth. One of his hands tentatively gripped the fabric of Strade’s cargo pants, the other awkwardly curled in, limp at his side. Three of his fingers were missing, bloodied bandages covering the stumps of his index, middle, and ring finger. His nose was buried in the coarse curls of Strade’s pubic hair, cock plunged all the way down his throat.

He had whined and screamed, now-dried tears running down his face as the thick, salty shaft had been eased into his mouth, hitting the back of his throat. He’d writhed under Strade when he didn’t stop pushing, but his body was too unresponsive to do anything aside from slump limply against the hand in his hair. Strade’s other hand held his chin up and in place, wide blue eyes full of fear staring up at him. When he’d shut them to cry harder, Strade had growled, “Look at me,” under his breath. He opened them reluctantly, closing them briefly in another sob before forcing them open. A tear streaked down his face. Strade kept driving himself in, groaning when Lawrence’s throat tightened, and continued until his balls were bumping against his chin.

Lawrence choked. His eyes watered. Acid bit the back of his esophagus. He felt like he was going to vomit. The scent of Strade- sweat, skin, an eye-watering manly musk- filled his head, stinging his sinuses. Drugs relaxed the muscles in his throat, but it was still nearly unbearable. Beneath the fog that filled his head, he could feel the way the walls of his throat clung tightly to Strade. A rawness burned deep in the delicate tissues where nothing had ever filled him before. When Strade shoved the last inch into him, a shudder ran throughout his entire body. A small spurt of stomach acid stung his mouth. He shook, but Strade’s hold was steadfast.

Strade withdrew a bit and relief flooded Lawrence for a brief moment, only for the breath to be knocked out of him again. Nausea bubbled in his belly; the walls of his throat stung like they’d been torn. He let out a muffled wail and a tear leaked down the crease of his nose. Strade’s gaze bore into him, eyes lidded heavy in lust and sadism. His tongue stuck out to mindlessly lick his stupid wide smile, shifting his hand around in Lawrence’s hair.

Lawrence wanted to look away, to close his eyes and escape if only mentally. His jaw ached. His throat burned. Every time Strade dragged across his tongue, he cringed. He could hardly breath; he could hardly keep his stomach down. With every thrust he choked, a wet, vulgar sound pulled from where Strade’s body was invading his own.

“Mm,” Strade's groan reverberated through Lawrence’s entire body. “You’re doing great, buddy!” He laughed, lowering his voice. “I almost would’ve never guess you’re a virgin.”

That tone should‘ve been Lawrence’s first warning sign. The next was the way Strade’s eyes narrowed, shifting both hands and grasping Lawrence’s hair tighter. He only realized when Strade tensed, pulling his hips back shallowly.

He realized too late to brace himself.

Strade’s pelvis slammed into Lawrence’s face. Immediately, he convulsed and puked, but Strade’s dick was so far down his throat there was nowhere for it to go. Hot bitter slime, chunks of half-digested food, and burning acid shot up into his nose.

Panic flooded him; he felt like he was drowning. He still couldn’t breathe. It blocked up his sinuses and leaked from his nostrils. He couldn’t snort it out, his nose was pressed into Strade. He couldn’t take in a breath for fear of getting it in his lungs. And Strade wasn’t pulling out. He- He wasn’t moving at all. Lawrence looked up, frantically trying to blink the tears from his eyes. Through his blurry vision, he could see Strade staring at him, face flushed and grinning. Lawrence really couldn’t breathe; the pressure in his lungs was rising to a concerning level. He struggled to blow the vomit out of his nose in hopes of being able to get even a little air. Strade just watched in amusement.

A wicked smile split his lips.

Then, he plugged his nose.

Lawrence panicked. His heart was pounding so loudly. His lungs throbbed. He thrashed against Strade’s hands, tears flowing down his cheeks. Strade hung on tightly and kept watching as spots slowly filled Lawrence’s vision.

“Aahhh, what’s wrong?”

Strade’s voice sounded quiet and far away. Much quieter than the blood thrumming in his ears. He shook helplessly. Strade really wasn’t going to let up. He was going to die here. Suffocated by a dick shoved down his throat. Covered in his own vomit.

Then, suddenly, Strade was gone and Lawrence fell forward with his entire weight, weakly slapping his arms against the floor to catch himself. He took a huge, desperate gasp of air. Even if it tasted like vomit, it was the sweetest breath of air he had ever tasted. Deep pain thrummed in his hand, panging through the stumpy fingers up through his wrist and all the way to his elbow, which wavered and he almost dropped himself.

Bile and spittle dripped down his chin in a thin, sticky film. He heaved in two more heavy breaths before his stomach tightened and he retched. Excess saliva filled his mouth, making him drool even more, and his abdomen contracted again. This time he was properly able to throw up anything remaining in his stomach. He wiped his mouth with his wrist and blew his nose into his free hand, painfully ejecting the viscous fluid.

With his throat already raw, it hurt. A lot. His stomach hurt. His jaw hurt. His sinuses, his hand, his lungs-

A heavy hand shoved him down face first into his vomit. He sputtered. The strong stench immediately assaulted him. His mouth was so close to the vile mixture of fluids that it lapped at his lips; his nose so close that he was afraid of inhaling it.

“Aw, buddy…” Strade hummed, shifting his hand in Lawrence’s hair to more easily rub his face into his own fluids. Lawrence couldn’t tell if he was mad or excited- or which would be worse. “Look at you. You’ve made such a mess all over my nice, clean floor. I should make you clean it up.” Strade was grinding his face into the filthy concrete so hard now he could feel his cheekbone bruising. “Shouldn’t I?”

Lawrence could only take short, shallow breaths and squeeze his eyes shut. His puke threatened his nostrils with every breath. His heart’s heavy rhythm beat against his ribcage and into the cold floor. There was no right answer here.

Slowly, the grip on his hair loosened. “I’ll tell you what. I’m feeling generous today. If you can do one favor for me, I’ll forget all about the mess. Sound fair?”

He shakily pushed himself up on his elbows, wiping the puke from his cheek with his wrist. “...Favor?” His voice was raspy and quiet and it didn’t work right away. He had to consciously push the air harder through his windpipe to make the word at all audible.

“Yeah.” Strade’s eyes trailed down Lawrence’s body slowly, drinking him in. "Can you do that for me?" There was something truly predatory in his gaze, something hungry and primal and dangerous.

It drove a stake of fear through Lawrence’s heart. His naked body and shaky limbs scrambled to crawl forward on the cold, filthy concrete. His disfigured hand ached, blinding pain shooting through him with every movement. His intact hand slid across the floor from the snotty slime covering his palm. Realistically, deep down, he knew there was no getting away. Not like this. But the only other option was laying there and taking whatever Strade had in mind, and that _wasn’t_ an option.

Strade laughed, loud and hearty, and asked, “Where you going, hm?” His tone was too friendly. Playful, even. Lawrence ignored him. “Do you think you could make it up the stairs? Even without me here?”

His words only drove Lawrence to crawl faster. Dread filled him when sturdy hands grabbed him by the hips and dragged him back. An icy-hot shiver ran through him when Strade firmly grasped his ass and spread him wide. He writhed weakly beneath him. “W-wait, wait, Stra-Ah!” Something thick and hard prodded at his hole. Lawrence involuntarily whimpered. There was no way that was going to fit. There was no way. He trashed harder, but a strong hand wrapped around his neck and pinned him down to the floor. With a firm yet shallow nudge of Strade's hips, his tip forced Lawrence open.

“ _Stop!_ ” Lawrence's cry was shrill. “Stop- _Stop!_ ” He scrambled under Strade desperately but the grip he had on his hips held him in place. The penetration burned, any minimal lubrication from earlier doing nothing to protect the delicate skin.

Strade growled above him and pushed. Lawrence gasped and could no longer hold back his tears. He could feel the tearing of dry tissues. He was _ripping_. It hurt so bad it blurred his thoughts and all he could do was pound at the ground with his fists and take it. Strade continued to slide in; every passing second filled Lawrence more than he thought ever possible. It kept coming, it kept tearing, and Lawrence could only pray for it to stop.

“You're doing good, buddy, really, I'm surprised!” When Strade smacked his ass, Lawrence yelped sharply, a noise so high it surprised him. Hot shame flooded his body, warming his blood. “But, you know…” He stopped easing himself in and leaned over Lawrence. With a grip on his ponytail, he tugged Lawrence's head back and whispered into his ear. “I can tell you're a virgin.” Strade's breath bated hotly against his neck in foul waves. “And, I mean _virgin_. Not even a curious finger. You all have this unique tightness to you. You all feel so _good._ ”

Without no more warning, he sheathed himself the rest of the way in one swift thrust. The blinding burn forced a hoarse shriek from Lawrence's already raw throat. White-hot pain like a split lip only so much worse exploded in his ass, another rip tearing through him when Strade jerked back to stuff him again. It was so invasive, stretching him so alarmingly far beyond any limit he even knew he had. Strade’s cock felt so big it was bloating up his guts; it was filling up his entire abdomen… it had to be. He was sure if he looked down, he would’ve been able to see it through his skin. The thought made him want to vomit again.

“Stop! Stop, _please,_ stop, stop, _stop, stopstopsto-!_ ”

Strade groaned long and loud, ignoring Lawrence’s hysterical begging. “You’re so _tight!_ ” He wrapped Lawrence's hair around his fist before thrusting back in. The cry torn from Lawrence was dry and agonizing. His throat felt like sandpaper. Every desperate gasp for air or pained scream burned. He clawed at the ground, grating his fingertips against the unfinished floor trying in vain to pull himself away from the weight pinning him down. Strade snapped his hips and Lawrence howled roughly.

Each thrust felt like it was tearing him in half. He had never imagined something could reach so deep into him. The pressure was sickening and tightening, probing and battering his rotten insides. He didn’t know how he could endure this. How he could survive this. He was dying, he had to be. There was no other way something could hurt this bad from the inside out. It was relentless. He choked and sobbed, only vaguely aware of the guttural screams oozing from his lungs.

Faintly he realized that, despite the extreme agony, he was hard. Painfully hard. When did that happen? His erection was chafing on the concrete below him. Every movement of their bodies was rubbing him raw. Despite that, he was being stimulated. Despite that the skin on the underside of his dick felt like it had completely worn away, his body was acting like he was aroused. Shame and disgust filled him, and he did his best to ignore it, instead trying to focus on Strade. He was panting and moaning and sweating above Lawrence, uttering things he didn’t understand.

Then, between raspy, broken screams, he moaned, too.

Immediately, Strade stopped moving. “...What was that?”

Lawrence didn’t even have room to be mortified with himself. Strade’s tone struck him with a visceral dread that sunk in his stomach like a heavy stone.

“Are you _enjoying_ this? Oh, buddy!”

Lawrence ignored Strade’s heavy laugh. He took the chance to frantically fling his weak arms out in front of him. Through his tear-blurred vision, he saw that his fingertips were raw and bloodied. His mangled hand had begun to leak fresh red through the cotton bandage.

“You are full of surprises. You really just keep on delighting.”

He managed to drag himself, smearing blood on the concrete. His heart was pounding. He had to get out of here. He had to. A weak leg pushed him forward in a feeble attempt to escape. Then the other leg. Blood rushed in his ears. The raw fingers on his intact hand rubbed along the concrete in front of him-

Strade violently yanked him back by his hair, choking him. When he slammed back into him full force, it knocked all the breath out of him. He couldn’t even scream. Strade’s sweaty chest smacked into his back. He was crushing him. Lawrence gurgled, desperate for air. Either his ass was going numb, blood was aiding with lubrication, or he was irreparably stretched out, because it didn’t hurt nearly as bad this time. Tears pricked his eyes at the thought. The throbbing of his hands and throat were more prominent now.

Once, he had tried to finger himself. It was after he realized he wasn’t only attracted to women, but before he realized he wasn’t only attracted to the living. He’d been masturbating while taking a long, hot shower. He squatted down, just the idea of something in his ass making him breathe heavily. Then he licked a finger and pressed it against his hot, taut hole. Rubbed it. Massaged it a little. It… felt good. He pushed, but he was so tight. He was afraid it was going to hurt. He pushed a little harder. The clenched muscle pushed back a little. It was going to hurt. He withdrew his hand and spit on his finger to try again-

" _Hey!_ ” A violent tug of his hair wrenched his neck to the side, snapping him back to the present. “Were you trying to get away?”

“Wh-what…?” He managed to squeeze out of his constricted throat, reeling from the suddenness of it. His head was pounding.

“You were trying to escape. Mentally. I see it all the time… You think up some pleasant memories and go to a place where I can’t get to you. But, I’m offended! I thought you were having fun here with me.” Strade let go of Lawrence’s hair, leaving his scalp aching. He rocked back and grabbed Lawrence’s legs, and swiftly flipped him over onto his back. Like rotating a piece of meat on a skewer. “You sure sounded like you were.”

Oh.

Lawrence’s body rapidly grew hot. Shame and disgust with himself flooded him. He’d already forgotten…

Strade leaned in, one hand holding up Lawrence’s calf. His grip was steadfast. The other hand firmly held Lawrence’s chin. His face was burning up, head swimming with abject horror. Even when Strade pulled his chin straight and up, he looked away into empty space. He couldn’t meet his gaze. Tears blurred his vision and rolled down his face. “Is this really your first time? You sucked me up like a whore.”

Lawrence choked. _Like a whore_.

Strade chuckled. “And you feel so damn good.” He squeezed Lawrence’s cheeks. His voice lowered. “I think you’re a whore, Lawrence.” A violent thrust broke the sob that bubbled from Lawrence’s mouth.

His gaze wandered down to Lawrence’s cock. A small spot on the head and a strip along the front of the shaft were bright red and angry, a thin layer of delicate skin having been scraped off. A wide grin grew on Strade’s face. “Wow, that looks like that hurts.” He mockingly looked at the concrete around Lawrence as if looking for something. “I wonder if I’ll have to use a power hose to get it off the floor later…” Then, his hand shot down to grab it.

Lawrence’s eyes flung open and he frantically tried to smack Strade’s hand away. “No, d-don’t touch- Ngh-!” The sore prickled and burned. Strade had taken it in his hand and was rubbing the raw spot with his thumb. Lawrence groaned with each stroke, teeth digging into his bottom lip.

“How does that feel?” Strade purred. The thrusts were shallower now, the rhythm of Strade’s hand on his dick slow but sure. The stinging pain was bad enough, but Strade was forcing him to feel good, too. He squirmed under his grip, trying to escape. Each slide of Strade’s hand sent shivers through him. Something about the action was wrong; it felt too intimate, too kind. Lawrence would’ve almost preferred being violently fucked or hurt over this.

“...h-hurts..” He finally whimpered. He didn’t want to give him anything, but he knew he wouldn’t leave him alone unless he did.

“Yeah? It hurts?” Strade cooed. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Yes!” His voice was high, raspy, strained. Pathetic.

Strade laughed again. Relief flooded Lawrence when Strade’s hand finally left his aching cock before the flash of the huge hunting knife at his side dashed it away. Before he could do anything, it raked across his thigh, and he heard himself scream while Strade moaned. He kicked his legs futilely around Strade’s waist, but this only caused the next stroke of the knife to cut even deeper.

Strade leaned over Lawrence and grabbed the wrist of his maimed hand. The stumps pulsated. Strade’s chest was right above his head, covered in hair and sweat. A droplet fell and hit Lawrence’s face, mixing in with his tears.

Strade seemed far away. Lawrence’s own hand, too, almost seemed far away. That didn’t lessen the pain any when Strade slammed into him and in one swift motion, severed his pinky. Agony seized his body, causing his vision to go white for a moment. Strade groaned loud and long in response.

“ _Oooh_ , and here I thought you couldn’t get any tighter!” The knife clattered to the floor and meaty fingers probed the exposed bone and tissue. “Just… a little more, schatz,” he crooned, pinching the raw edges together. It, plus the sickening ache deep in his gut each thrust gave him, was unbearable. Lawrence was screaming, actively trying to yank his arm away and flailing his legs.

Strade thrust once, twice more, and came hotly deep inside Lawrence, pulling out and cumming all over his stomach. Blood was squirting out of his pinkie, oozing from the others. All of them almost seem to be vibrating with pain. His asshole burned; his gut ached. His vomit was smeared all over him, a thin sticky coating drying on his chest, and his dick throbbed. He laid there, trying not to break down into tears.

He tipped up his head. A mangled hand rested above him. A club of flesh with only a bony thumb left. He could almost still feel his fingers - fingers that never really felt like his to begin with. His pinky was nearby, a single sad digit disconnected roughly at the joint. The rest of them were off somewhere in the basement, likely where he and Strade had been ‘playing’ before.

A loud, distinct shutter cut through the eerie silence. Lawrence struggled to lift his chin to see Strade pointing his phone at him. It took a moment for realization to settle over Lawrence. When it did, it was like he’d been punched in the gut.

He had taken a picture.

Of him.

Like this.

Lawrence was too weak to resist, even when Strade lowered his phone down to his groin and took another picture. He spent a moment staring at his phone, presumably evaluating the photos.

“Delete them…” Lawrence rasped.

“Huh?” Strade cocked an eyebrow. His smile was crooked. “But you haven’t even seen them yet!” Before Lawrence could say or do anything, a bright screen was shoved in his face, causing him to blink rapidly and squint.

When his vision cleared, he wished it hadn’t. It was a close up of his abused hole. The ruined ring of muscle was bright red and engorged, protruding slightly. It was very clearly torn in multiple spots. Cum and blood leaked from the gape. A dry cry bubbled from Lawrence. Suddenly aware of the fluids dribbling from him, he felt it clench.

A meaty finger swiped to the next picture, depicting Lawrence’s full body this time. Any dignity Lawrence had left was immediately shattered; he couldn’t even breath.

His dull, greasy hair was wild and frazzled. Bruises and cuts littered his skinny body. The puke, drool, and cum glazing his skin shone in the light. And his face… Darker than usual circles lined puffy, red eyes. His gaze was listless. Tears had cut layers of trails through the grime staining his face, cheeks blotchy and flushed. One cheek was scraped and bruised. His lips looked swollen, limply agape and shining with wetness. Thick snot was gathered on his top lip. A revolting mixture of all his fluids was built up in his long, overgrown stubble. That's what he looked like right now?

“...delete them...” he begged softly, averting his gaze.

Strade just chuckled and flipped the phone around to take another of Lawrence’s face. “I wonder how much I could auction you for with these!”


End file.
